The Price of Peace
by Ri Toraookami
Summary: Years after the end of a war which seems to have brought true peace to the demon country, Wolfram reflects on what it cost him.


I've heard it said a few times that the greatest tragedy one can face is to bury one's own child. As foolish and self-centered as I always felt it was, denouncing the pain of others as less important than one's own...I never realized how painful it could really be. I brought it on myself by having a human for a daughter, I won't pretend otherwise. And adopted though she was, it didn't stop her from referring to me as her father, just as she did my husband. ...speaking of whom, I would say that it's even worse to bury the only one you've ever loved (even more so since Yuuri should have outlived me by a good fifty years at least). I've had the misfortune to have done both and these days, life has been reduced to little more than a chore. One I couldn't abandon even if I want to, because I'm sworn to the new king's protection and fate hasn't been kind enough to give me a battle in which I can finally die in.

No matter what, I refuse to die a coward and leave the king without one of his most trusted guardians. He's older than me, probably about 300 years in age. Untalkative and has little interest in the population of his own country. Parts of him make me think of Yuuri, though. He came to us somewhat ignorant of what exactly would be expected of him, for example. Our demon country is quiet these days, with no reports of towns burning or being pillaged. One of the few lasting peaces we've ever had, as well it should be...enough blood was shed to gain it. Human, demon, even animal. And mixed with it flowed the blood of my brother, my daughter and my husband, the king. Twenty-seven years since that final war ended, thirty since Greta died, and I can still hear all their voices as though we had only spoken last mere days ago. I can barely recognize myself in the mirror these days. I keep my hair a little longer than I did when I was young, it hangs just above my shoulders. Yuuri had told me a long time ago that I should grow it out like this, and it's one of the little ways I'm reminded of him every day. Would he look at me the same way if he saw me again after all this time? Would he still hold me and whisper shyly in my ear that he loved me when I look the way I do? What about Greta? I still have Anissina's book, and I can still hear her laughter when I look at some of the stories contained in it. At least _she_ wasn't murdered. Watching her sicken and die was incredibly hard on both of us, but she died with her parents holding her hands and soothing her. More than most people have, certainly, and more than Yuuri recieved. The bright red and brown scars from countless battles I participated in trying (and eventually failing) to keep him out of the fray criss-cross my skin, mixed with burns of various size and severity. It's amazing how vividly their colors will remain over the years when you're this fair-skinned. Conrad's never stood out too badly, even mere weeks after healing. And he was always on the frontlines of battle, his lack of magic being his curse and, eventually, his downfall. Though...I could never match that level of skill with a blade while he was alive, and I never will. My skills lie with the casting of magic, not with physical strength. Most of these injuries were given to me when I was reduced to fighting blade-to-blade, and I should have died many times.

But I'm kept alive through everything, to watch the few people I loved die. Mostly, it's right in front of my eyes...the only one who died when I wasn't there with them was Conrad. At least he didn't die alone. Josak was with him, just like in so many other battles. And just like that fight in Luttenberg he was the one to bring his body back. From what I've heard from both Josak and other soldiers on the field that day, he lived up to his name to the end. I would have expected nothing less, and though I mourned his death and first regarded the news with disbelief I'm proud of him. That was one of the war' s last battles. I've never seen Mother as hurt as she was the first time she laid eyes on Conrad's body. She held him dearest of the three of us, after all. Always addressing him first, beaming as she complimented his swordsmanship and resemblance to his father..treating him like a man, while I was just hugged, teased and reminded of how alike we looked. She acted like we were the same. Truth be told, his relationship with our mother was part of the reason I resented the man so much, even though he loved me and always treated me like the brother I was to him. It was too late to salvage things totally when I finally admitted that I loved him too, but for quite a few years we were able to talk, and I'm grateful for that. I could never totally rid myself of the resentment I had felt for decades, but I got close near the end. Perhaps with a few more years I could have fully allowed myself to forget how betrayed I felt had he lived. It's gone now, of course, but how much of that is because of the shock and pain of losing him? I'll never know.

It's one more thing to burn at my soul, right beside "Why couldn't I get there in time to save Yuuri?" I had yelled out to him that there was someone behind him, and tried both to race towards him and summon the spirits of flame to do my bidding. Perhaps that was where the mistake lay. Perhaps if I had done one or the other, my husband would still be with me, and we would still be ruling this land together. Or maybe there was nothing I had a hope of doing, and Yuuri had no chance of ever making it out of the battlefield alive. I wonder which is truly the case. My feelings keep me from being able to discern what the truth is, and nobody would dare tell me what they believed...other than Gunter, that is.

He made it perfectly clear how he felt about the issue. I was solely at fault, since I should have been at his side the entire battle, doing nothing but guard 'His Majesty' while the other soldiers risked their lives. I expected no less; the man was blinded by his love for Yuuri from the start so it's only natural that he would take out his pain and fury about the man's death on me. He spoke to me that day as though I didn't care at all about the fact I watched my husband die. Like I hadn't gone over it time and time again, telling myself the same things he screamed at me, tears streaming down his face as he knelt over Yuuri's body. The last time we spoke was at the funeral. He offered me words of consolation over my loss, but didn't make any attempt to hide the hollow tone in his voice or the hatred in his eyes. I would never have expected Gunter to be that way, but I guess losing the object of decades of blind adoration as well as your king would change someone.

I highly doubt that I'll ever gain 'forgiveness', but I don't care. I suppose I must have taken after Gwendal in that respect. It's healthier not to be overly worried about the opinions of others, especially those with no ability to impact your life in any significant way. I still hold my elder brother in the highest respect, even more than when I was young. The demon kingdom owes him a great deal, as it was always he who truly managed the affairs of our nation. Yuuri never did develop a talent for it. The new king doesn't rely on him near as heavily, but Gwendal is nonetheless his chief advisor and I have no doubt that much of the prosperity we've had the last few years is due to him. There's a certain type of pride one tends to feel when a respected person is sucessful, and I'm grateful that I was able to enjoy it in the past. Every meeting that he holds to discuss foreign affairs, I'm invited. I think he does it out of courtesy, or some brand of subtle kindness. I certainly could be excluded, as my rank is once again simply the Lord of Bielefeld, and the Ten Aristocrats don't hold the same power or rank they did a century ago. I forfeited my rank as king after Yuuri's death not out of tribute, but logic and responsibility. I only posessed the title due to our marriage, I had not been chosen by the Great One. I was not the one to lead the country, especially not at such a fragile time.

On those increasingly rare occasions when I venture out into one of the newer villages build within a day's travel of Covenent Castle, I can hear the whispers as I pass. Everyone recognized me for who I am, and as much as I despise the stares I refuse to lower myself to the level of wearing a disguise. Why should I give up my pride as a warrior, and as a demon, simply because peasants love to concern themselves with all the scandals and tragedies of nobility which they have no business with? The castle is quieter, and more peaceful. I'm not disturbed while I reside in my room, and I have no need to venture beyond the courtyard should I wish for fresh air and sunlight for a little while. It's only just turned to summertime, and everything is in bloom. Soon, it's going to be July. The time I despise the most, because it's when my mind thinks of nothing but the man I loved, and my dreams are troubled with the highlights of decades of memories which are all that I will ever be able to hold onto. It's the worst when I dream of the first and last few years, when Yuuri matured into a beloved leader and when he would greet me daily with a warm smile and an embrace. Those forceful reminders that I'll never see that smile again are the only time I can't breathe for the pain. Even recalling his last moments of life are nothing compared to that. Because that day, Yuuri didn't cry like most would. He smiled a last time at me, and then he closed his eyes.


End file.
